


cause you don't even know

by rabidgopher



Category: Persona 5
Genre: First Dates, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Ryuji's Hoodie, Texting, and inappropriate uses for it, cliches, gratuitous sailor moon references, guys bein dudes, unrequited dating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 01:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17132846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidgopher/pseuds/rabidgopher
Summary: (1:29am) if I was gonna ask a friend out u think I could do it over text?Akira grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. Hormones areawful.





	cause you don't even know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alicechugstea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicechugstea/gifts).



> This is a secret Santa gift for the wonderful Alicechugstea from the Pegoryu Discord server! I hope you like it! (Chapter two to come in a timely fashion!)

_(1:28am) Ryuji: hey man u up_

 

A short, sharp vibration against his thigh lurches Akira to the wrong side of wakefulness. It’s either too early or too late for this, and his internal clock - sounding a lot like Morgana -  immediately demands that he _go back to sleep_. He sighs. It’s probably nothing important, but he reaches down to fumble his phone out of his pocket anyway. As soon as he raises it to his face, his eyes involuntarily squeeze shut against the harsh brightness.

On instinct, he darts a glance at Morgana to see if he’s stirred. Thankfully, he’s still curled up and breathing deeply; plus, the weight on Akira’s elbow and the pins-and-needles tingling in his hand now have an explanation.

He looks back at his phone, satisfied he won’t wake his feline friend.

_Ryuji_. Of course it’s Ryuji. How does he ever manage to function during the day _and_ have the energy leftover to exercise for hours after school? _Probably by sleeping through class,_ he thinks, and stifles a huff of laughter.

His eyes adjust to the light, finally letting him read his screen.

 

_(1:29am) if I was gonna ask a friend out u think I could do it over text?_

 

Oh.

Akira knows it’s irrational, but he feels his mood drop immediately. His exasperation flips into straight irritation. He is honestly, gladly willing to die for his friends, but part of him wants to strangle Ryuji for waking him up for _this_.

More than that, he hates that he’s self-aware enough to know that it’s not because of the late hour, or even necessarily because the question could easily wait until morning.

 

_(1:31am) Depends_

 

_(1:31am) on what?_

 

_(1:32am) Idk on the person?_

_on how close you are to them probably_

 

_(1:33am) alright well like what if I was gonna_

_what should I say_

 

Akira bites his lip. He shouldn’t pry - and if Ryuji had a crush, wouldn’t he have said something already? Especially a friend. A _friend_? What, is he actually about to ask Ann out after all this time? Or someone else, maybe. He had never pegged Makoto as Ryuji’s type, but who else was left? Futaba?

 

_(1:35am) Who are you asking out?_

 

_(1:36am) just work with me here k??_

_like what if I was asking my best friend out_

_but over text_

 

_(1:37am) Ryuji I’m your best friend lol_

_why wouldn’t you just do it in person?_ _  
_

_If you’re that close to them_

 

_(1:38am) dude just help me out_

 

_(1:38am) I’m just kidding_

_What do you have so far_

 

He can see Ryuji typing, stop typing, then start again.

 

_(1:39am) wdym_

_(1:40am) You must have some idea_ _  
_

_(1:40am) uhh like_

_(1:41am) wanna go out sometime?_

_(1:41am) That’s not very personal_

_(1:41am) well shit idk then_

_(1:42am) how would u wanna be asked out_

_(1:42am) Everyone’s different yk_

_(1:42am) yeah but like_

_gimme an example_

_(1:43am) Alright well maybe apologize for doing it over text?_

_For one thing_ _  
_

_And then maybe like_ _  
_

_“I’ve liked you for awhile. Wanna do something Sunday?”_

_Or smth_ _  
_

_Idk I usually ask people out in person_ _  
_

_(1:45am) wdym “usually” ur not dating anyone_

_(1:45am) I didn’t say I never strike out_

_(1:45am) heh loser_

_(1:46am) Who just gave you advice??_

_(1:46am) wow ur rite, jokes on me_

_(1:46am) Ungrateful >:( _

_(1:47am) nah, jk. thanks_

_(1:47am) Just don’t blame me when everything I said is completely useless_

_(1:47am) lmao dude how could it be_

 

Is that the end of this? His eyes are struggling to stay open, watering as he yawns. He’s almost asleep again when he gets a few more messages in quick succession.

 

_(1:50am) so like_

_sorry for doin this over text but_

_I really like you_

_you wanna go out on sunday?_

_(1:51am) Yeah_ _  
_

 

He wishes this didn’t sting so much. God, it’s just dating advice. At the same time, he’s giving _Ryuji_ dating advice. What’s that term? Going against your own best interest?

Akira isn’t trying to _sabotage_ him. Just the thought crossing his mind makes him level a few very disappointed and ashamed insults at himself. It’s just… when it comes to crushes and romance, he’s as useless as Morgana’s attempts at flirting with Ann. He wouldn’t be a reliable source even if Ryuji could trust him to be impartial - which he _isn’t_. He’s hopelessly subjective when it comes to his best friend.

 

_(1:51am) awesome!!!_

_lmao try not to sound so excited dude_

 

~~~~

 

For the next few days, Akira tries to keep his mind busy at the risk of lingering over that conversation.

He fails.

Whether that means rereading it (he only does twice, he swears), tying his mind into knots, or letting the slow and uncomfortable realization that _Ryuji has a crush_ creep into his subconscious, it just… dominates his head. Spirals him lower. He’ll get over it, eventually, but it’s a big bombshell, y’know?

And in the meantime, Ryuji props his head on his hand over his finished lunch. The roof is sun-soaked and blessedly empty, and one of his only reprieves from the rumor mill. “What time you free on Sunday?”

It’s not an unusual question, given Akira’s normal schedule and his proclivity to make time for Ryuji or Ann or Yusuke when they need it. Still, he’d assumed… well, maybe Ryuji just hadn’t asked her out yet. They. Her, or- or they, maybe. Maybe him. He’s never really asked? It sticks in his throat like bad food now, and anyway that’s not really an appropriate answer to what Ryuji asked.

He clears his throat and looks down at where he’s tidying up the remains of his curry. “Round noon?” he suggests. If Ryuji has a date later, that’ll give him enough time-

“Great!” Ryuji’s smile is brighter than the sun and it honest-to-goodness, breath-caught, cheeks-warm, freezes Akira in his seat for a few moments.

“Yeah,” he agrees thickly, a little overwhelmed. “Great.”

 

~~~

 

For October, it’s way too cold. He cuts a glance over to Ryuji, who’s shifting impatiently from foot to foot. He’s got a little wrinkle in his brow as he stares toward the tracks.

“Are you cold?” Akira can’t help but ask.

Ryuji ceases his fidgeting and glances at him then, surprised. “Not really. How come?”

“You’re just,” he shrugs, feeling silly for even bringing it up, “you look restless, is all.”

“Oh, no, I’m just…” he rubs the back of his neck, chucking sheepishly. “Nervous, I guess? Nah, that’s dumb. I shouldn’t be.” Color fills his cheeks. It’s hopelessly endearing.

Nervous, though? What, is there a quiz Akira’s forgotten about? His mental calendar flips through his mind as he tries to remember. “What day is it?” he asks absently, his murmur not really meant for an answer. He gets one anyway.

“Not for school, dude.” Ryuji sounds exasperated, but uncommonly fond. Akira must have a weird look on his face as he stares rigidly forward and down. “It’s nothin’,” he insists.

Eventually, Akira allows, “Okay.” Part of being a good friend is being patient, he reminds himself.

_Yes, patiently wait until Ryuji decides to spill his guts about some girl,_ says a nasty voice in his head. _When you know you could’ve gotten there first._ Not true, he denies steadfastly. That’s not true. Ryuji wouldn’t and _doesn’t_ have feelings for him, and nothing he could have said or done would have changed that. Repeat ad nauseum.

“ _You’re_ shiverin’ like crazy, though, now that you mention it.” Ryuji eyes him. “Y’can’t tell me you’re not cold.”

“Yeah,” Akira admits sheepishly. “Should’ve worn an undershirt or something.”

“It’s not even that cold,” he teases, and inexplicably starts shrugging out of his sweatshirt. “Here, then.”

Ah, uh...

Um.

Huh.

_What?_

“Won’t you be cold?” Akira asks numbly as he swishes the thing around his shoulders, enveloping him in far too much Ryuji to take in at once in _public_.

“Nah. Maybe I just naturally run hot,” he laughs. “And the train’ll be even warmer.”

“Thanks.” Akira hopes his voice doesn’t crack too badly.

“No probs.” Ryuji tugs him into his side and vigorously rubs at Akira’s opposite arm. He blinks in astonishment and furtively glances side to side. No one seems to be looking, but… Ryuji’s gotta know what this looks like, right? Their _classmates_ are on this platform. He has to get his mind off of this before he goes insane trying to rationalize Ryuji’s actions; he’s always been touchy and physical, but this is beyond- just, _beyond_.

After there’s a good bit of silence between them (and Ryuji’s arm still around him), he speaks again. It’s belated and disjointed from their conversation, but Akira hopes this is him being a good friend. “You seem happy, though.” He's _trying._

It seems like it takes Ryuji a second to realize what he’s talking about, but when he does, he turns his head fully to look at him and _smiles_. Akira’s breath stops cold for a second. This close, Ryuji’s full wattage is arresting. His eyes are impossibly tender, crinkled at the edges, and his face is free and open and soft. “Of course I am.”

And he realizes with a terrible jolt, like a subway derailing in front of him - if there’s someone who makes Ryuji smile like _that?_ He can’t possibly hope to compete.

 

~~~

 

_(7:05pm) soooo what kinda dates do you like?_

  _(7:05pm) wat_

_(7:05pm) dont wat me_

_for reference man_

 

Akira sympathizes, kinda. Planning dates is hard. Still, he’s already mentioned that he has little to no experience in this field - Ryuji should probably ask Ann, honestly, with her encyclopedic knowledge of fashion magazines and all-around savviness, but he’ll add his two cents.

 

_(7:05pm) Idk man, a fun day out, a good meal, coming home and_ _  
_

_playing video games_

_Goodnight kiss is important haha_

 

-shit, that feels like a stab in the heart to write-

 

_(7:05pm) Sorry I couldn’t be more help._ _  
_

_I just kinda like spending time with a person_

_Not really what we’re doing that matters yk?_ _  
_

 

_(7:05pm) :)_

 

Well, that was probably supremely useless. Ryuji probably stuck an emoji in there so he wouldn’t have to tell him he was shit at relationship advice. Well, for anyone but himself. It's… good advice for taking himself out. Yeah, still, he kinda doubts a girl would go for his version of a dream date.

Never mind that the thought of Ryuji kissing anyone goodnight is more depressing than it has any right to be; never mind that the reminder that he’ll never get to kiss Ryuji in _any_ capacity makes his heart insist that it wants to be acknowledged, dammit, and squeeze painfully.

Akira grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. Hormones are _awful._

 

~~~

 

Akira is just about finished getting dressed when he hears the bell over the cafe door followed by Ryuji’s voice carrying clearly through the cafe and into the attic. “Hey, Boss!”

It makes him try and fail to fight down a smile. Sojiro replies something typically grumbly, indistinct from the attic, and Akira’s eavesdropping is interrupted by Morgana’s uniquely catlike ability to give him the most disdainful side eye he’s ever received. “Really?” he grouses.

Nothing witty comes to mind, and he doesn’t have a chance to reply before distinctly uneven footsteps pound up the stairs.

He quickly tugs a button-up on over his tee and turns in time to see Ryuji hovering at the edge of the stairs, hand scrubbing over the back of his neck in an uncharacteristic show of apprehension. “Hey,” he greets, fixing his collar, and pauses as his eyes skim over Ryuji from ankle to shoulder. “You’re dressed up,” he says, blinking stupidly, and it’s true. Admittedly, it’s nothing fancy, but he hasn’t seen Ryuji out of a muscle tank since they switched uniforms (and no, the bathhouse doesn’t count; he doesn’t mean _out of_ out of, and now he’s thinking about Ryuji naked again-) certainly in nothing _fitted_ ever - is that a henley?

“Oh, yeah, I mean I-” Ryuji shrugs sharply, his gaze dropping to the ground briefly. “It was prolly dumb but… yeah.”

Morgana makes a sound of disgust. “I’m not watching this. Maybe Futaba will let me nap in peace.” He’s gone out the window before Ryuji can fire anything barbed or teasing back.

“More like ‘maybe Futaba will give him snacks,’” Akira says with a chuckle.

Ryuji snorts. “Never seems to gain any weight, does he?”

Akira groans. “Oh, he gains weight alright. You just can’t tell because he doesn’t sleep on _your_ chest.” That gets him a laugh, and Akira mirrors him with a grin.

“He looks the same though, don’t he? Maybe it’s a Metaverse thing.”

“Probably.” Akira touches his shoulder. “Wanna head out?”

“Y-yeah!”

Just being next to Ryuji puts Akira on edge as they leave Leblanc; he doesn’t meet Boss’s eye as they pass, just keeps his head ducked like he’s avoiding a jury.

Akira mentally uncrosses Futaba off the list of “potential friend crushes.”

Within a few minutes it becomes clear that they’re headed for the batting cages, and with every step it seems as though Ryuji’s shoulders bunch into a rubber band-tight ball. It’s the opposite effect he wants to have on him - it’s the opposite of how he usually sees Ryuji, anyway. “Hey,” Akira murmurs, letting himself purposefully walk into him and bump their shoulders. It gets his attention, sharp and jittery as it is. “Meant to say, earlier. You look nice.”

Ryuji’s eyes widen like he’s accidentally stepped into traffic. And he goes _red_.

Akira raises a baffled eyebrow as Ryuji laughs shakily and stammers out a rushed, “Thanks, man.”

When they arrive, the batting cages are nearly empty, only a lone preteen occupying one of the other spaces at the very end. Ryuji shoots down his attempts to pay for his own pass - “I got it, man,” - and eyes the huge target with a cocky grin. “Whoever doesn’t hit a home run buys lunch,” he suggests, nudging Akira’s ribs with his elbow.

They’re going for lunch too? Well, he supposes he won’t complain.

“What if neither of us hit one?” he asks as they grab their rental bats. “I think you’re getting too smug for your own good.”

“Oh yeah?” Ryuji tips his head up, a clear challenge in his voice. “Think you can outdo me, Mr. Treadmills-Are-Worse-Than-Shadows?”

Akira leans on his bat and grins, a curled, sly thing he rarely busts out without a mask. “I’ll take that bet.”

  
  
~

 

They enter the beef bowl shop and Akira nods to one of the part-timers he knows. They sit and order in companionable silence, the same thing they always get. Ryuji gives him a too-smug grin as he orders a large and Akira rolls his eyes and knocks his shoulder. “I get it, I _lost._ ”

Ryuji proportions his bowl like a _heathen_ , and Akira playfully waves off his attempts to destroy his own perfect balance. “I’ll never get the taste of ginger out of my mouth if I let you near my food again,” he teases, and Ryuji backs off with a grin.

“Can’t help it if I wanna make sure you eat better than instant noodles and curry forever.”

“I eat more than that!” He really, really doesn’t, unless crepes with Ann count as a food group. Maybe the Big Bang Burger Challenge does because of its sheer size.

“When was the last time you ate a single raw vegetable?” Ryuji shoots back. “Didn’t think so.” And that’s just. He can’t let that stand.

Akira lets out a “pfft,” waving his hand in dismissal. “I eat lettuce. And tomato.”

Ryuji drops a pair of chopsticks in front of him with a flat look. “Big Bang Burger don’t _count_.”

It totally _does_. “Then in that case, vegetables are evil and I don’t need them.”

Ryuji shakes his head and pokes Akira’s cheek. “No wonder you’re practically see-through.” He grimaces and bats Ryuji’s hand away. He can’t even argue that point. What, is he going to insult Ryuji for being all tan and hot?

And Ryuji seems to intuit that he’s won this round with a little laugh. “Ha. Gotcha.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, stuffing his face with a strip of beef. It’s… not bad. Could use some more ginger - but he’s not about to say that out loud.

They eat and chatter a bit, mostly bits of school stuff and dumb jokes apparently geared toward making Akira chuckle, until Ryuji leans back a bit and sets his chopsticks down.

“Hey, Akira.”

He lifts his head and raises his eyebrows in a little gesture to say ‘go on.’

“I just wanna say-” he looks over at Akira and snorts out an inelegant laugh, interrupting himself. “Dude, your glasses’re all foggy.”

Akira plucks them from the bridge of his own nose and wipes them on the edge of his shirt. “What were you saying?”

“I was just-” he sighs, facing forward again. “‘Member when we met?”

“Of course I do,” he replies immediately. It was only a few months ago - also, he doubts he’ll ever forget the feeling of stepping into the Metaverse for the first time. “Why?”

“W-well, we met… an’ then we came here after that,” Ryuji says, and falters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Ugh, I’m screwin’ up.”

Totally lost, Akira nods along. “Okay.”

“I dunno, man. Forget it. Let’s just keep eatin’.” Ryuji dives into his bowl with abnormal fervor, even for him, and Akira flounders. He can’t even think of how to prompt him, since he could barely parse what Ryuji was trying to get at in the first place.

In the end, he just shrugs and tucks back in.

After they’re stuffed to the gills, Ryuji leads him to the little arcade across the way. He seems to be in the mood to _win_ today, if his competitive spirit is anything to go by. He soundly whoops Akira at racing, but Akira retaliates by challenging him to a few rounds of Gun About with a smirk.

“Nice job,” Ryuji sighs, sounding a little exasperated as they slot their guns back into the machine. “Can’t believe I forgot you were trainin’ with that kid.”

“The King,” Akira corrects him. “Have a little respect for your monarch.”

It takes an outraged glance before Ryuji realizes he’s kidding and laughs it off. “C’mon, man. Y’know, I can’t take you seriously when you’re doin’ all those dumb flips and shit when I remember you learned ‘em from like a ten year old.”

“Oh, but you’re not laughing when I bring Shadows to their knees with just a few bullets,” Akira sniffs, trying very hard to pretend to be offended. “I didn’t see you complaining in Futaba’s tomb.”

“Eff off, man!” Ryuji laughs, shoving him lightly. “You’re such a showoff in the Metaverse, it’s amazin’ you can even stay this calm in public!”

“I have to be extra _somewhere_.”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Dude, you’re extra _everywhere_. God, it’s a good thing you’re not always Joker - you’d be pullin’ that dumbass Tuxedo Mask shit everywhere, throwin’ roses and comin’ to the rescue of girls in sailor uniforms.”

“I can’t help it if I want to charm lovely blondes,” he says without thinking, and Ryuji scrubs the back of his neck with a huff of laughter.

“Guess I should be glad you’re not goin’ around like freakin’ Mamoru then,” and before Akira can even tease him for his knowledge of Sailor Moon, he picks Akira’s hand up, and- _it’s just the backstreets, there’s only a dozen gossipy old people milling around-_ Akira panics, eyes going wide, but not before Ryuji can press a kiss to his knuckles.

His breath catches at the contact. He can’t stop staring at his hand, suspended in air, long after Ryuji’s blinked a few times and dropped his hand. “Uh.”

“You-”

Ryuji laughs, tight and shaky, and takes a couple steps back. It gives Akira some air, but part of him doesn’t want the room to breathe - he wants to be crowded in, dizzy, _by his best friend, who’s going on a date later probably?_

He shakes himself subtly. “I’ll see you later, okay?” he offers with a small smile. It’s not hard to make it genuine, with the misplaced giddiness fizzing in his chest. “Have a good night.”

Ryuji nods a few times, shaken. “Yeah, uh, seeya. Goodnight.” It’s barely five. Still. Akira squeezes him on the shoulder and slips into LeBlanc before he can say anything incriminating.

 

~~~

 

_(8:03m) So how’d it go?_

  _(8:05pm) how’d what go_

 

 He rolls his eyes as though he’s talking to Ryuji and not staring at a screen. Does he really have to spell it out?

 

  _(8:05pm) Asking them out_

  _(8:05pm) ??_

_oh heh_

_great i think lol_

  _(8:07pm) Good to hear._

_(8:07pm) cmon man_

 

Akira doesn’t have the energy to press for details. If that’s what Ryuji wants, he can volunteer them himself. Frankly, Akira hopes he doesn’t want to talk about it at all. He feels like a selfish brat, but… maybe in a month or two, when the pain of rejection is stale, he’ll be able to offer up some genuine enthusiasm.

 He wishes he’d been more proactive. He wishes he’d even had a chance in the first place.

Two heavy paws prop up against his shoulder and Morgana’s whiskered face twists around to peer into his phone screen. “Who’s texting you this late?”

“It’s only eight,” Akira returns mildly, not quite ready to humor him.

He sighs in that way that makes Akira feel like a mothered chick - strange coming from a cat, and touching coming from a friend. “Alright, but if we want to go to the Palace tomorrow-”

“I know.” He reaches up, the angle awkward, and dutifully strokes Morgana’s head. “You going to take a walk tonight?”

Morgana’s paws shift on his shoulder. “I _should_ probably do a quick patrol,” he blusters. Akira tries not to grin. He suspects that despite all his protests, Morgana enjoys hunting during the dusky evening hours. “Just to make sure no one suspicious is around!”

He nods, putting on his “leader” voice. “Good idea,” he says, and gives Morgana one last scritch to the ears. “Remember to watch your back. 

“Of course,” Morgana scoffs, bristling, but there’s an eager gleam in his eyes as he jumps up to the windowsill. “I’ll be back in an hour. Try to do something productive if you’re going to stay up?” he says reproachfully, casting a pointed glance at Akira’s phone.

Akira’s lip twitches into a half smile. “Roger that.” He waits until Morgana’s swishing tail has disappeared over the eave of the roof to reply to Ryuji.

 

_(8:12pm) What?_

_(8:12pm) nvm. dork_

_:)_

 

What’s that even supposed to _mean_?

 

_(8:13pm) speaking of FISHING man_

_you wanna head to ichigaya friday_

 

He taps out a quick affirmative and shoves his phone under his pillow. It’s no big deal. It’s _no big deal_. Ryuji is still his friend, that’s all they were ever going to be, and Akira… wants him to be happy. Really, he does. And if he found someone else to-

Not going there. Akira is just going to be happy for him. That’s it. Not jealous, not bitter, not heartbroken, not anything of the sort. He’s _tired_ of wallowing in his own angst. There’s gotta be something he can do to get his mind off things.

Well, he’s been out of lockpicks since that last run to Mementos. And Morgana _had_ told him to do something productive, which, in its own way, was good advice. He moves to get up, then stills when he sees Ryuji’s sweatshirt draped over his desk chair. He’d almost forgotten it was there with the summer heat still lingering over the city well into fall.

He moves off his bed slowly and stands by his desk, worrying the sleeve between his fingers. The fabric is comfortably worn, but the color is still vibrant; so much like its owner that Akira wants to laugh and then have a good cry.

When he’d worn it, the sweatshirt had been big enough to drown in and drenched in Ryuji’s scent. It had given Akira ideas then - in public, surrounded by hundreds of people - and it gives him even more ideas now. Really horrible, immoral ideas that no one should even entertain when looking at a borrowed piece of clothing from their best friend.

He’s… thinking about it. More than anything, he just wants to feel the fabric on his skin. He plucks at his sleep shirt, trying to talk himself out of _whatever this is_ , but his body moves faster than his brain. Akira tugs his shirt over his head, hooks his thumbs in his waistband to drag his pants down, and snatches the hoodie from the chair.

 

He takes his time putting it on. The fleecy lining is scratchy and soft, and he’s getting kinda dizzy from trying to inhale so much. His eyes fall shut. “Ryuji,” he breathes. He’s in private and completely alone, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling ridiculous.

_Productive, huh?_

This will be the only chance he ever gets at this, Akira reminds himself. He shouldn’t even be doing this _once_ , and it shouldn’t feel like a combat opening. He ignores both voices of reason, tries again, buries his nose and mouth in the collar. “Ryuji.”

He sounds stupid, breathy and needy. Worse, it works. Makes him _hot_. Having the sweatshirt, wrapping his body in it - it makes it all too easy to imagine Ryuji is here with  him.

It makes him imagine other things, too.

Things like getting fucked within an inch of his life by his best friend.

Like going senseless and drooling in Ryuji’s lap, split open by his cock, and cumming like a freight train to a hushed endearment.

Like fucking himself open with his fingers, putting on an amazing show and getting manhandled and pounded into his mattress for his efforts.

He has _needs_ , okay?

He wants- he wants to get caught like this. It comes to him in a jolt like the sudden, head-spinning arousal that heats his entire body at that epiphany. He _wants_ Ryuji to find him kneeling flat on his bed, hand stuffed in his boxers, face buried in this borrowed hoodie that makes his unreachable fantasies feel _real_.

Lust clouds out the voices in his mind that tell him this is stupid or embarrassing. A rumbling moan shaped like Ryuji’s name bubbles up through his throat. He shifts to lay supine against his pillow, one foot tucked beneath him and legs spread just enough to feel a little slutty. _God_ , what he wouldn’t give for something to fuck himself on right now.

It’ll never happen - but this is a fantasy. He can practically hear the creaking steps up to the attic, can imagine a heavy, hot gaze on his prone body. He can close his eyes and picture Ryuji: red faced and open-mouthed. In his mind, Ryuji wouldn’t be revolted, but turned on. He can cast a single smoky look from the corner of his eye, never slowing, never ashamed. Ryuji can follow it, let it draw him in, could _want_ the way Akira wants him.

Ryuji could perch on his bed, stay just out of reach and tell him what to do - it’d still feel like his fingers, his own touch that way - a commanding edge in his brown eyes. Akira bites into the hoodie, restraining a whine. There could be nothing but Ryuji’s voice curling around him, husky and confident, and the just-out-of-reach dip of the mattress.

He could listen but not touch. He could _obey_.

It’s not like he’s never thought of Ryuji before, but trying to imagine things like “ _keep your eyes open,_ ” or “ _faster,_ ” from his best friend’s lips feels different. Almost invasive. But as it turns out, he finds that once he starts, it’s impossible to stop there.

And it _doesn’t_ stop there. He can’t help himself: “ _you look so pretty with your hand wrapped around your cock,_ ” turns into “ _y_ _ou’re beautiful, Akira._ ”

God, _more_.

“ _I wanna see you touch yourself,_ ”  turns into “ _Let me touch you._ ”

“ _I love the noises you’re making,_ ” turns into “ _I love you._ ”

Akira arches just off the bed, toes curling into his futon, covering his mouth and nose with the hand not jerking himself through orgasm. He’s got the sleeve pulled well over his fingertips. It muffles his cries and he can pretend, just for a second, that Ryuji’s - not _kissing_ him, the feedback isn’t there for that, but here, and close, and maybe silencing him.

He whines his way through the aftershocks, feeling guilt snare his heart again like creeping poison ivy. It curdles together with the physical contentment in his chest. His arm flops back from his face to the bed, the oversized sleeve damp from his spit and-

He jackknifes up, strains to see in the dim light. _Oh god oh god oh god there’s fucking_ cum _on Ryuji’s hoodie._

A hysterical, humorless giggle escapes his throat. Fuck, he should’ve been more careful. It should have occurred to him in the first place, actually, and dammit, wiping it off isn’t doing _anything_ \- no, it’s making it _worse_ , shit.

Akira’s gaze whips around his room. He has like - a Tide pen in here, right? Stain remover? He lives above a restaurant that sells _coffee and curry_ , he must have _something._ Or he could rifle through Sojiro’s things until he finds one, and a.) run the risk of having to explain to Morgana what he’s doing or b.) upend the store for no reason if there isn’t one.

Or, oh, duh, the _laundromat_. Maybe it’s one of the things in that little wall-mounted vending machine. He just hopes it’s been restocked recently. When was the last time he’d stuffed his bag with that gross soda?

Akira ignores his orgasm-wobbly legs as he gets to his feet, compiles a convincing stack of laundry, and pulls on enough clothing to be presentable. He just prays that Morgana won’t get on him too hard for breaking curfew for the sake of laundry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you enjoyed/to make my day!! thanks for reading ^^


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